


perfectly able to hold my own hand (but I still can't kiss my own neck)

by cominupforair



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 00:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20106097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cominupforair/pseuds/cominupforair
Summary: Haunted by nightmares he cannot explain, Merlin starts painting the lake he sees every night in his dreams. Arthur, though, might be hiding something from him.Written for arthur_pendragon's Merlin/Arthur Touch Fest





	perfectly able to hold my own hand (but I still can't kiss my own neck)

**Author's Note:**

> the title of the fic comes from the song [Civilian by Wye Oak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mssm8Ml5sOo)
> 
> P.S. kudos to those who spot the dialogue I basically copy-pasted from an episode of Doctor Who
> 
> **Trigger Warnings** (I already mentioned them in the tags, but let's repeat them to be on the safe side): References to past suicidal thoughts. Descriptions of nightmares, hallucinations, insomnia.

Paint splattered on a canvas.

He used to paint beautiful landscapes, elaborate geometric shapes, trompe l’oeils, portraits as detailed as photos.

Now he could only splatter colours on a canvas.

Full stop.

And the shades were growing darker day by day. The bright red of last month, now was a reddish purple. And the same had happened to the rest of the palette. It was 3 am and all he could do was besmirching the white canvas, his hands, his pyjamas, trying to find the shade which matched perfectly the dark blues and greens of his nightmares. His hands used to hold the smallest brushes, define details that only he could see.

Now it was all anger.

He mixed the colours with rage and no finesse, every brush, even the biggest, laid on the floor, dirty, broken, abandoned. Merlin couldn’t even remember why he used to care so much for them. His hands were his new tools. He spread, tapped, hit, scratched, tore and ripped.

The first light of the morning often found him on his knees in front of his canvas. _Everything’s ok_. That’s what he repeated as a mantra. Artists had to evolve and maybe that was his path. He just wished it would be easier and didn’t involve the _no sleep_ and _scary vivid nightmares_ parts.

Arthur disagreed with him, he thought it was unhealthy, but he didn’t understand, he was a businessman. Artistic inspiration wasn’t his thing.

There was just one thing he still didn’t manage to understand.

The nausea, the sinking feeling whenever he woke up, the full minute he spent unable to breathe as if he were underwater. A centuries-old loneliness that came from god-knows-where and tightened its grip around his heart.

And every night was the same.

There was a huge lake, blue and green and red. Someone drowned. Even after waking up he continued shaking for hours and the only thing he could do to get rid of the pressure in his chest was to draw till he could paint his anxiety, till he cried begging for release, till the canvas became his mirror.

“It is beautiful,” said a voice behind his back.

Merlin didn’t turn, still facing his work, still hiding.

He was ashamed, he didn’t want Arthur to see him like that. When he was done with his paintings, he always felt empty, unable to move, tears streaming down his face. Usually it took him a couple of hours to recover and he didn’t want Arthur to see him in those moments. He was scared Arthur would get afraid of him. Arthur was the best thing in his life, he couldn’t get afraid of him. Not him, please not Arthur.

“How can you say so? It’s a mess,” Merlin mumbled, exhausted. He really didn’t understand.

The room was silent except for the noise of the rain falling heavily outside. Arthur slowly began to pace towards him.

“People find peace in different ways,” he began. “Through music, sports, hobbies. Contemplating nature. Watching the sky. Breathing slowly and focusing on our inner perceptions.” Merlin kind of hated it when Arthur started with his know-it-all nonsense. His warm voice, though, had the power to soothe him so much that Merlin had barely realized his presence beside him before he saw Arthur’s profile in the corner of his eye.

“Art is different,” Arthur continued, turning to watch him. “Art has to move, to shake, to provoke a reaction.” He took his chin, slowly, forcing Merlin to make eye contact as he kept on talking. “It’s a mess, I’ll give you that, but a beautiful one, not the sterile beauty of a jewel, it is gut-wrenchingly beautiful and I could look at it for the rest of my life and still find it as strong as a punch.”

And Arthur believed it. Merlin could see it in those eyes, beaming with pride and incredibly honest. Merlin was destroyed by the effort he had put in that work, by the lack of sleep and by the tears which kept streaming down his face no matter how he tried to stop them. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with his boyfriend being amazing when he was a wreck, but he leaned his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder, basking in the comfort that such little body contact always gave him. Arthur wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight and pressing his fingers in his back, tracing his ribcage and his spine almost reverently. Merlin let Arthur’s natural warmth surround him, making him feel home, shooing away nightmares, nausea and worries with just a kiss on the top of his head. 

“And anyway, you know that I love messes, otherwise I wouldn’t be stuck with you,” Arthur said, mockingly, kissing his temple.

Merlin, head still on Arthur’s collarbone, huffed, “Why do you always have to ruin the rare moments in which I seem to forget you’re a pompous ass?”

Arthur’s bright laughter filled the air. “You’re staining my t-shirt, you know?”

Merlin lifted his head from Arthur’s pyjama only to find it completely smudged with red paint. He laughed breathlessly. “Shut up, it’s art and I’m not yet finished.” 

Arthur was still watching him quizzically when Merlin cupped his face with his hands. His long fingers, covered in light-blue and purple paint, drawing circles and shapes on Arthur’s cheeks, on his neck, on his jaw.

And Merlin’s full lips, crossed by an oblique splash of green, kissed him fiercely.

\---

Merlin had a soft spot for champagne.

And Arthur knew it.

He wouldn’t have come to the annual business gala with all the Pendragons if it wasn’t for champagne. Sometimes Merlin wondered what had made him choose Arthur regardless of all his relatives. When other people asked, he said that he was a masochist who preferred long and silent dinners with his in-laws than self-harm.

He glanced at Arthur, sitting at the other side of the room in his suit and tie, probably talking of incomes, risks and investments with his -he now was sure of it- future investors. He had a way of talking, a confidence in his abilities, that could charm a fossil. And it was all a facade, Merlin knew that, but it was flawless.

Then Arthur caught him staring and flashed him a bright smile in return. That was it, that was one of the reasons he put up with all the inconveniences of having a Pendragon as boyfriend.

He grabbed the third? fourth? glass of champagne of the evening and leaned against the wall.

“Soo Arthur told me you’re looking for a place to expose your new paintings?” Morgana purred, leaning next to him on the counter and sipping a cocktail.   
  
Merlin shrugged. “Arthur thinks that they might be worth something.”

“I’m sure he’s right.” Merlin arched an eyebrow and gave her a suspicious look. She quickly swallowed the cherry she was nibbling at to add “Don’t tell him I told you so, but Merlin you’re getting quite famous here in London. I haven’t seen your new paintings yet, but I might know someone who has the right place for you, I’ll give him a call.”

Merlin smiled fondly. “Thank you Gana, for the help but also for, you know, the company, these parties would be unbearable without you.”

He sighed and Morgana scoffed. “Flattery will get you nowhere Merlin! Besides you’re a liar, alcohol is the only thing that makes these parties bearable.”  
  
“Touché,” Merlin replied, clinking his glass of champagne with Morgana’s and taking another sip.

And that’s when the room suddenly fell silent, like he and Morgana were in a bubble and everything else was slowed down, distant, far from them.

Alarmed by the sudden stillness, Merlin looked at Morgana, but she was smirking, apparently unfazed by the silence. “Are you still waiting for him?” she asked voice cold and distant.

“For who?” Merlin frowned.  
  
“For him to come back” she said quietly.  
  
Merlin recoiled from her, suddenly scared of her voice, her riddles, her everything. He had the impression of having a dagger pointed at his back, but he couldn’t understand why.

Morgana only shrugged and took another sip from her drink.  
  
“It pains me, you know,” she continued, “I’ve always thought that you would endure everything for Arthur’s sake. Without turning crazy, I mean.”

She drew a perfect evil smile with her red lips before adding, “Evidently I was wrong.”

Merlin just stared agape. Not understanding what was going on, what Morgana was talking about and why she suddenly sounded like one of the voices in his nightmares.  
  
Champagne.

He needed more champagne.

He looked at his glass realising that he hadn’t finished his drink, too caught up with Morgana’s nonsense. But the more he stared at the champagne in his flute, the more it turned red. His glass seemed full of thick and boiling blood. The laughter of Morgana. His hands covered in blood. Morgana’s blood. He started shaking. The room started going around and round.

Only one fixed point: Arthur.

And Arthur’s strong grip on his wrist, grounding. His hand stealing Merlin’s drink and swallowing it down.

Then everything came back to normal.

The sudden chatter of people broke the spell. Everything was still hazy and confused, but he tried to focus on Arthur’s eyes.

“Merlin are you okay?” Morgana asked, looking at him with concern, one hand clasped around his arm. Merlin didn’t miss it when she threw Arthur a worried look.  
  
“Please, tell me you didn’t start World War Three while I was talking with those businessmen” Arthur intervened, wrapping his arm around Merlin’s waist. “I thought you would be better than this Merlin” he protested “how dare you fight Morgana without calling me?! I had even brought popcorn for the occasion, they’re in the staff room!”

Morgana glared at Arthur and kicked him in his shin with her stilettos. Merlin was still dizzy, still not sure what had happened.

“I’m okay, I think I may just have drunk too much,” he finally replied, smiling shily.  
  
“How much champagne have you had?” Arthur asked.  
  
“Fou-” Merlin began mumbling as he saw a waiter with a cabaret full of flutes and promptly changed his answer “Four glasses, but since I’ve already made a scene, I think I’m about to grab the fifth and you really can’t change my mind!”

But Arthur knew him better.  
  
“Are you sure? Because I was thinking that this party is pretty boring and I had plans for tonight!” Arthur winked, smiling smugly.

“You’re disgusting!” Morgana grimaced before turning on her heels and walking away to greet with her usual charm a group of businessmen near the buffet.

Merlin’s attention diverted from Morgana, to the waiter to his boyfriend. His cheeks slightly blushing as he imagined stripping Arthur’s shirt off. Who the hell gave him the right to wear suits? There must be a law somewhere that forbid it.

Merlin leaned in, whispering in Arthur’s ear, “Then kiss me, I’m tipsy”. 

\---

Merlin was trying to look through the peephole of the bathroom's door.

It's not that spying on Arthur was what he had meant to do, but he had come home early and he had wanted to take a shower. Apparently, his boyfriend wasn't the only one who thought that his works were worth something, but finding an exhibition space big enough to host all his canvas wasn't easy, not at all. He had knocked all the doors, phoned all the numbers and searched the whole city, but nothing seemed to suit his needs.

So he had come home, exhausted, in need of a big meal and a hot shower, but his plans had abruptly changed in front of the bathroom’s door when he had heard Arthur's voice.

He was talking on the phone with Lance.

Merlin wouldn't have eavesdropped if he hadn't caught him saying, "He's painting the lake, Lance, the lake!" with the harshest voice possible. Silence followed. And then a choked "He's remembering Lance". Arthur was crying and Merlin's breath got stuck in his throat. He hadn't forgotten anything and why would the subject of his paintings make Arthur cry?

He was pretty sure that Lance was answering because he could hear Arthur's humming on the other side of the door. Merlin wanted to call Gwen, she always knew everything and fuck, he wanted to know what was going on because Arthur was crying and apparently, he was crying because of him.

And then Arthur shouted, hoarsely, almost like a growl, "He can't remember, Lance, he can't! Do I need to remind you how he was when I came back?"

Merlin couldn't fathom whether he was more shocked by what Arthur was saying or by his broken voice. And Lance was shouting too which was scary enough. The low and understandable murmur coming off from the other side of the phone now was a perfectly hearable, "Arthur you can't decide what's better for him!" suddenly crossed by his boyfriend reply, "I can, oh for fuck's sake, of course I can, I can't let him drown, not after all he's done for me". 

Merlin wanted to open the door and calm him down. Arthur never screamed, he dealt with all the shit of his family, with CEOs who practically ruled the world and with all of Merlin’s highs and lows, but he had never once lost his temper like that. And not for no apparent reason. That was exactly what was stopping Merlin from doing something and force the door open. He wanted to know why Arthur was upset, what was the problem with his paintings and why Arthur’s words had taken the breath out of his lungs.

On the other side of the door, the silence was stretching. He could hear Arthur nervously pacing, tapping his fingers on the wall then punching it. Once. Twice. His sobs getting louder. Arthur’s broken voice again, "Lance-" but then Merlin's phone rang.

Morgana's call.

Merlin looked at the phone in his hands, wanting to murder Morgana like never before. He heard Arthur hit the wall once more shouting "Shit", but before Arthur could open the door Merlin had already left.

\---

It was fucking cold and Christmas was approaching. No matter how he tried to ignore it, fairy lights where hanging in every street and the songs of Michael Bublé were playing on loop in almost every shop. And that was one of the reasons he preferred staying home and painting. And he would have spent the afternoon in the basement if Arthur hadn't come in his studio and found him covered in green paint. Arthur’s face contorted in a grimace at the sight.

"You can't always lock yourself up in this room for hours," he had complained. 

"I'm not" Merlin replied without looking at him. 

"Yes, you are, you woke up at 3 am, it's 4 pm now, you haven't even eaten and you look like the Grinch with all that" he gestured, pointing at his face with yet another grimace, “with all that green _thing_ on your face”.

And so here he was, freezing in the cold air of December in Hyde Park because Arthur had compared him to the Grinch. Poetic, really. Shakespeare wouldn't have done better.

Not even Hyde Park’s ducks were brave enough to paddle near the Serpentine with that weather, but Arthur was basically manhandling him to a bench in front of the lake.

He sat down, looking quizzically at Arthur. He had never managed asking Arthur why he was crying on the phone with Lance and something had been missing since, something had been very wrong since then, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like playing the Odd One Out when he was a kid. He had five words, one was wrong but no matter how much he tried he couldn't find which one.

It all looked like an impressionist painting. Nature, a lake, a bridge. Some ducks, two people. Arthur's nose was red and so were his cheekbones. It all made a striking contrast with his incredibly pale skin.

Then Merlin saw them. The dark circles under his eyes. How hadn’t he noticed them before? Two strokes of blueish paint. 

Arthur was sitting on the other side of the bench, staring at his hands and torturing his lower lip. 

"Why are we here Arthur? I know that Christmas lunch with Uther and Morgana isn't your favourite activity but-" Merlin said, trying to joke, trying to do something that would make things right because this was anything but right. “I didn't know you enjoyed freezing to death in front of a lake in December, shall we go-” Merlin stopped. Arthur's eyes were wide open and his lips pressed into a thin line. Merlin had clearly said something wrong. 

"Oh for fuck's sake, what the fuck’s wrong with you now?" Merlin snapped, he couldn't remember when he had started swearing that much but he didn't care. And he knew Arthur didn’t deserve this stupid outburst, but he slept two hours per night tops, he had nightmares every night, he was edgy and tired. But all Arthur could do was stare at the lake, torturing his hands.

After what felt like a thousand years Arthur huffed loudly and hung his head.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered.

"Arth-" he tried but was interrupted.

"Do you remember how we met?" Arthur asked quietly. Merlin scoffed, almost annoyed by the fact that Arthur had come up with such a stupid question in that moment. But Arthur seemed serious. 

"Yes of course I do!" he replied.

Arthur said nothing, just rolled his wrist in a gesture that meant _go on_.

"That idiot of the postman, how was he called? Kilgharrah? He kept on putting your letters in my mailbox and mine in yours"

"Yes, your mails and your idiotic subscription to Healthy Cooking."

"Shut your mouth, I put up with months of Men's Health. Who even spends 4.18£ just to be reminded every month that he's not fit enough?"

Arthur's lips turned upwards for a second and Merlin chuckled, suddenly reminded that their relationship had started just because they couldn’t stop bantering. But Arthur pressed on and asked "and then?"

"Arthur, what's the point of this?"

"Go on" he replied with his authoritative tone, the one he knew Merlin just couldn’t disobey.

"And then I used a black marker to draw moustaches on the covers of your issues of Men's Health and slipped them under your door. But once you caught me doing that and you opened the door of your flat, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. And somehow that become a recurrent event. Once even with a mere towel covering your..." Merlin coughed and Arthur glared at him. "And I started pining over you even though I thought you were straight. But then you began asking me about the postcards Mordred was sending me, and you sounded jealous."

"I wasn't jealous!" Arthur retorted.

"Aah, that's why Mordred was hospitalized for a week with a broken nose?" Merlin grinned and Arthur shrugged, nonplussed.

“It’s not my fault he was a dick!” 

Merlin leaned forward, trying to kiss Arthur’s adorable pout away, but Arthur didn’t let him.

"Merlin, how did we meet the first time?" he insisted resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

And Merlin suddenly remembered.

\---

It was always the same.

It felt like watching the world through a peephole. His visual field restricted. Only a small portion of reality available for him to see. He knew that the world outside was bigger, more colourful and possibly quieter, but the peephole only let him see the dark clouds and the big waves. The screams. There was always somebody screaming.

He had endured it for centuries, but he had lost his hopes. All his life waiting for something to happen, looking through the same peephole, hoping he would come to open the door. He had been staring at that lake for so many years that he couldn’t even remember how life was before. But he had persevered, trying not to question why such a cruel destiny weighted on his shoulders and not on someone else's because if he let that thought crawl into his mind, he knew he would give up.

The wind was howling and lashing his face as he walked towards the shore. 

Sometimes he thought he’d be better off washing his memory clean, forgetting everything, forgetting how the sun felt on his skin. The way it warmed his bones on the first days of spring, but also burned his lips and made it impossible to breathe in the summer. He regretted wasting those sunny days in his past life. When he hoped for Albion. When the sun walked beside him and his name was Arthur. Before the clouds covered the sky. 

It was a hand in his hair, Arthur’s arm on him as they walked past the training field, it was a grip strong and calloused, Arthur bumping his shoulder as they passed each other. Warm as the sun.

Now it was just his own cold hands twitching, rubbing, trying to ward off the icy wind. It was his own nails digging in his skin. It was numbness, cold numbness.

Merlin was walking onwards, towards the waves. His shoes were getting wet. 

It wasn’t a specific moment, the anguish clutching his stomach tight, the solitude, the wind, the cold. What hurt the most was knowing that that specific moment would be followed by millions of identical moments. Deep down he knew that one day the sun would shine once again, but it wasn’t now. And he was tired. And the sun that would shine, eventually, would be for someone else, not for him. 

The water had reached his hips. He needed just a few more steps. 

He had seen the sun sinking in that lake centuries before. He hadn't come back. It was time Merlin reached for him. 

\---

“For all this time? Why would you even do that? I was dead, I was dead and gone, why? Why would you even do that to yourself?” Arthur’s hands were gripping his shoulders, shaking him. Arthur was crying. He was crying, but it was alright because this was just a pipe dream and Arthur would soon disappear. It was just a pipe dream.

“I had a duty,” Merlin whispered, knowing that _duty_ didn’t even cover half of the reasons he had waited for Arthur, but he was tired and cold.

\---

Merlin ran back home, tossing the keys on the coffee table and shedding his scarf and coat on the floor. He looked around the kitchen, his dirty mug in the sink, Arthur’s Arsenal towel hanging next to the oven, a couple of his brushes that he’d left out drying that morning.

A photo of Arthur’s 33rd birthday attached to the fridge with a magnet.

Merlin stopped. Staring at that picture like he was seeing a ghost. Arthur was smiling, one of those big crooked smiles. And he was looking at Merlin. Merlin who was putting some spraying cream on the tip of Arthur’s nose, eyes crinkled and lips quirked up in a smile.

Merlin stared at it,_ lieslieslieslies_, this wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not now.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair.

He couldn’t stand looking at that photo any longer. He furiously grabbed the brushes in the sink and ran down to the basement. As far from that photo as he could. He felt like his chest was caving in, like he had a stone pressing on his ribcage and he could. not. breathe. He wanted to fold in two, scratch his skin away and stay crouched there, on the floor, for ever. 

He grabbed one of the white canvas and placed it on the easel.

All the grief he’d been bottling up exploded messily all over his ribs, flooding his lungs and clogging up his throat. He didn’t know who he was. Old Merlin wandering aimlessly on the shore of Avalon? Young Merlin back in Camelot or this Merlin, the only Merlin he had thought existed before the memories of his past life had come back? He could not tell reality and lies apart. He remembered waking up to Arthur’s warm kisses and he remembered being alone, untouched, starved, so far removed from everything happening around him. For centuries.

It left Merlin breathless and shaking. All was dark and quiet in the basement, but instead of feeling at peace like he usually did when he was in his studio, Merlin felt unsettled. He pulled his hair with his hands, staring at nothing, at the empty blank space on the canvas.

Sniffing, he picked up one the biggest brushed and held it like a knife. He wanted to lunge towards the canvas, stabbing it and screaming. But everything felt too loud, too real, he wanted to hurt himself to know if he was dreaming or not. He just fell on his knees, sobbing. 

Somehow he fell asleep on the floor. He woke up early in the morning, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to his skin. He turned his head, almost expecting Arthur’s strong body curled around him, but he wasn’t there. Maybe he hadn’t been for years. Maybe it had just been his mind playing a game on him all along.

He rolled over with his back pressed against the floor, staring at the ceiling.

—

It was cold.

Merlin was lying in his bed, under the covers. He thought about getting a duvet, another one, but he couldn’t be bothered. He pulled the blankets up around him, burying his face under them and curling up. The light coming through the windows seeped through the covers, it was bright and white like a blank canvas and Merlin hated it so he closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to think, but his mind wouldn’t stop mulling over. He was trying to reconcile things. Arthur fucking him into the mattress, on this precise bed just a couple of days ago. Arthur marrying Gwen in Camelot. Arthur’s touch. And centuries of loneliness.

And he tried to reconcile because the more he thought about it, the more the loneliness overcame everything else. The more he thought about it, the colder he felt.

He tried to curl up, to save what little warmth he’d left, to build a fortress against the doubts, the pain, the memories. When he let his guard down, even for a second, he could feel the water of the lake enveloping him, choking him. He could hear a voice, a noise, _it was a lie, you’ll always be alone_.

_It was a lie_, whispered that old voice in his head. Old Merlin had gotten better at recognising the signs of a storm building in his own mind, the shortness of breath, his fingers shaking. But this Merlin right here, he could only helplessly feel the voice bouncing from his skull all the way down to his stomach.

He tried to take a full breath around the ice in his lungs, but the more he thought the heavier the weight on his chest got.

Merlin was startled by a gush of fresh air, someone else invading his nest of blankets. Arthur. Always Arthur. Arthur who tried to wrap his arms around him, only to be stopped by Merlin. His fist curling up in Arthur’s white sweater and forcing him to step back, keep the distance.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Merlin aware that Arthur was staring at him, but not wanting him anywhere near his body, somewhat afraid that he would finally crumble if Arthur as much as touched him.

Finally he murmured hoarsely “So what, is this- is this all just a lie? Were you ever even in love with me or have you just been pretending to keep an eye on me? Poor Merlin gone crazy waiting for the person he loved to come back who knows when and who knows how, was this just pity?”

Merlin knew this was just the tip of the iceberg, he’d have to wade through many more questions and pain to get to the end of this, but that precise question kept pushing through his ribs. He had thought he’d be angry, he’d imagined shouting these words at Arthur, but it really was all just a broken whisper.

Arthur recoiled. Merlin could feel him tensing up under the fist he was still using to keep Arthur away. He thought about releasing his grip on Arthur’s sweater, but then he glanced at Arthur, at his eyes shut in a grimace and kept his hand where it was.

And then, “I loved you from day one Merlin.”

“From day one here in London or from day one back in Camelot? Because how could I see that when- when you married Gwen? And you barely acknowledged I was your friend before you died? When you never told me?” Merlin paused, trying to swallow down the lump that was forming in his throat. “You never told me, not even when you were dying in my arms,” he insisted, not really sure how he should interpret Arthur’s expressions, Arthur’s words, Arthur’s _anything_. 

“What was I supposed to tell you, Merlin?” Arthur asked, defeated, like the weight of the whole world was crushing his chest. “I was dying, I knew I had only a few moments left. Was I supposed to say _I love you_? How could tell you that I loved you when I was dying in your arms? How could I do such a thing? You always pointed out that I was a spoiled brat with the biggest ego you've ever met. But you knew that that wasn't the truth Merlin. I didn't want to hurt you any further.”

Merlin felt like someone was throwing a bucket of iced water on his face. Like he was on a rollercoaster and his head was spinning. And he needed the fucking rollercoaster to stop right fucking now. But Arthur continued.

“I loved you before I knew of our destiny together, before I knew of your magic, before you became my manservant, before I knew your damn name and we were fighting in the marketplace. But I couldn't choose you. I couldn’t choose you when I was a prince, how could I choose you when I was a king and the responsibilities of a whole kingdom rested on my shoulders, Morgana threatened me and above all the ones I loved? How could I leave you there, on the shore, alone and knowing that I loved you? How could I leave you with the burden of my words when nothing could ever come of it anymore?”

And Merlin remembered when Arthur’s lifeless body had been in his Arms. When Kilgharrah had told him that Arthur would come back because he was the Once and Future King. When he had started waiting for Arthur and centuries came and go. When the loneliness had started eating him. When he had stopped waiting and started hoping he could just fade away because Arthur was his only anchor to the world, but he was tired of being anchored. He just didn’t want to _be_.

Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur’s sweater and, this time, pulled him towards himself till he could rest his forehead on Arthur’s chest, hide his face and breathe him in, trying to ground himself before he started losing his mind. He’d been forced to witness the spectacle of his own past for way too long, he had to try and get a hold of the present and the future. _Arthurarthurarthurarthur_.

“And when I came back. Fuck.” Arthur pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “When I came back you were so out of your mind with grief, I did what I had to do to save you. You didn’t even recognize me, you kept thinking you were hallucinating, I wasn’t real and I would soon vanish into thin air. Lance- Lance helped me. He came back too, not long after I did. And so did the others. We found a spell that could wipe out your memory, Camelot, what we’d done together. A spell that made you think you were someone else. We hoped you could start over again. I hoped it would make the pain stop. Even if it would make you forget me and everything else we’d done together.”

Arthur’s chest stopped rumbling against his forehead and Merlin almost wrapped Arthur’s sweater around his wrist. He pretended he didn’t know Arthur was crying, he pretended he didn’t hear the strain in his voice. Merlin wanted to say something, anything to make it all right again, how it had been before, but words failed him again.

“And then I moved in the house next to yours. I just wanted to keep an eye on you. I watched you water your plants in the morning, I watched you smile at Lance without knowing who he was, I watched you fall in love with other people, I watched you see me walking down the stairs without recognising me. I felt I could die from happiness when you asked me out on a date. And having to lie to you for three years is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m sorry, I know it’s not fair to you, but I hoped you’d never get your memories back because I didn’t want you to go through all this pain again. But then you started having nightmares, painting the lake-”

Arthur choked on his words. And then he stopped altogether. He slowly rested his chin on the top Merlin’s head, afraid that Merlin would push him away.

When he spoke, he sounded smaller than Merlin had ever heard him. “I know you must have a thousand questions and you can tell me what you want, but not that I don’t love you, I loved you when I was King of Camelot, I loved you when I was your neighbour Arthur and I love you now that you know the truth. I never stopped.”

Merlin swallowed. He didn’t dare lift his head from where it was buried on Arthur’s chest. He didn’t dare looking at Arthur. He didn’t know if he could do it. He wanted to say so many things and then he didn’t want to say anything. He had too many words to say and they all got stuck trying to come out at once. He realised he was crying and shaking with sobs. He felt before he registered being hugged by Arthur, his strong arms surrounding him, grounding him. He felt before he registered, because it was Arthur’s warmth seeping through his veins like an anesthetic, it was Arthur’s weight on him, it was home, it was _home_.

Merlin allowed himself one second to close his eyes, to breath, to swallow down his relief. He’d thought that if Arthur as much as touched him he would crumble, but he had never felt so whole before.

“I didn’t deserve that,” Merlin finally mumbled. He knew his eyes were red and puffed, his face contorted as he tried to keep his tears from falling, but he finally worked up the nerve of looking Arthur in the eyes. He drew in a ragged breath and he repeated, “I didn’t deserve that, but neither did you. We didn’t deserve that.”

Arthur pressed a kiss on his hair and Merlin melted, feeling both giddy and heartbroken, overwhelmed and secure, safe in Arthur’s arms. 

“If I had known that one day I would have come back, I would have told you I loved you. I’m sorry Merlin, I’m so terribly sorry.”

Arthur reached up and traced a finger over Merlin’s cheek, his nose, his lips. He pressed another kiss against his forehead. It was the familiar smell of Arthur’s skin, the brush of his fingers on his jaw, the soft pressure of his lips. Merlin had missed this like you miss breathing right before you drown.

There were still a lot of things to fix, fights to have and words to say. There would be bad days and there would be good days. But Arthur was there, he was alive and they were together. No matter how much he both wanted to rearrange the universe, make it kinder to them, he couldn’t change the past and he couldn’t free them of their scars. But now they had an entire lifetime to try and outweigh the bad. And this time Merlin lifted his head and raised his chin, pressing his mouth against Arthur’s soft lips, whispering _I love yous_ and kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please appreciate the fact that I checked how much Men's Health costs in the UK and please let me know what you thought of it. Kudos, comments, feedback, people correcting my mistakes all loved and appreciated <3


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